


Inverse Function

by linguamortua



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hydra Won (Marvel), Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:53:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: Hydra wins. Natasha disappears. Bucky dies. And Steve? Oh, they keep him around, now that he's harmless enough.





	Inverse Function

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



> I was super thrilled to see brighteyedjill's name, and to enjoy this BLAST FROM THE PAST HYDRA TRASH PARTY WRITING EXPERIENCE! I haven't had much writing time this year, so this is short, decidedly not sweet and hopefully everything my recip could want.

Steve had endured a lot of pain in his life. More, he thought, than almost anyone; more in volume and more in the sheer dizzying array of torments with which life had visited him. He had been wracked by illness, skewered and remade by medical science, frozen, burned, shot, stabbed, crushed, drowned. There had been mornings he awoke with a great gasp, expecting anything at all but the uncanny, perfect function of his modified body. A psychologist from SHIELD told him once that his brain was still injured in all the ways that his body had healed from. He supposed that made sense. It sure felt like pain.

But it didn’t come close—none of it, in fact, came close—to the particular agony of watching Brock Rumlow pull on Steve’s Captain America suit and pick up his vibranium shield. 

_Oh yeah_ , thought Steve from his knees, _that’s a fucking killer_.

There had been a time when being on his knees for Rumlow seemed like a fun way to pass an evening. When the alternative had been going home alone and stewing in the past. When Rumlow was just some guy he worked with. A warm body. There had been a time when he actively sought Rumlow out. The three-month long stretch in between slotting into the STRIKE team like a weathered old soldier, and realising with sick urgency that those men were about to try to kill him in an elevator. The time when he called Rumlow _Brock_.

Now he calls Rumlow ‘Cap’, because that’s what Rumlow wants, and now more than ever Rumlow gets exactly what he wants. He gets it because he is Captain America, and because he is stronger than everyone else, and because of his hard, mean hands and his viper-quick rage. Fine, so the shield and the suit didn’t make the man. Steve’d be the first person to say it. Symbolically, though, Hydra knew what they were about. He wondered if anyone out there in the real world understood the coup in its entirety; if anyone could understand how deeply Rumlow was defiling the suit, the shield, the flag. If anyone cared any more.

Steve ran the tips of his fingers over the scar on the base of his skull, right under his hairline. A thick, keloided ridge. 

‘Old war wounds giving you trouble?’ said Rumlow, zipping up the side of his suit. 

‘No,’ Steve said neutrally. Sometimes Rumlow liked to play the magnanimous leader. ‘No, Cap. Everything’s fine.’

So he’d caved. Bucky must be turning in his grave. But how could there be any other option with Hydra’s nasty little control chip lodged in his cerebellum? One jolt of Rumlow’s electric controller and he’d be twitching and pissing himself on the floor; two jolts and he’d be a vegetable for the rest of his life. 

‘Better be fine,’ said Rumlow. ‘Buckle me up, would you? You know the way around this thing better than me.’ Steve tucked his toes and stood as gracefully as he knew how. His feet were stinging-numb and his knees cracked. He came around to Rumlow’s back and started doing up the shield harness. It felt different, putting it on someone else. And the the shield, suddenly heavy in his unaugmented hands. He hooked it onto the metal clip so that it turtled across Rumlow’s back. The weight of the shield was negligible when you had the serum, but something about its particular location in between your shoulder blades made you stand up a little straighter. Steve had once believed that it was a healthy sort of patriotic pride that improved his posture when he was _Cap_ , but Rumlow had adopted the exact same stance, so Steve had revised his theory. Just a proprioceptive response to a weight in a precise location.

He was sure that Rumlow didn’t believe in anything but control.

Steve knew what was coming next. Rumlow looked over at him as he stepped away from the shield, fingers drifting lingeringly away from it. There was a way of looking Rumlow had, where he refused to accept that, even now, Steve was taller than him. Most of Steve’s body remained the same and that galled Rumlow. So when he stared Steve down, he stared down his nose, although Steve was easily four inches taller.

Steve knew what was coming next. He knew, and Rumlow preferred not to have to ask. The new and improved Captain America always liked to wear the suit when he degraded Steve. Hearing him say it made it even more degrading.

Back down onto his knees, then; Steve felt the impact up through his back. A friendly reminder of his renewed mortality. As he settled his weight back against his heels, he smoothed out his face. Rumlow must have known that Steve was all coiled up inside with disgust, but god forbid that Steve show it. _And anyway_ , Steve thought to himself miserably, _it’s not like it doesn’t still feel good_.

Before Natasha had overstepped one too many marks and been abruptly disappeared, she had told Steve with unnerving earnestness that he shouldn’t blame himself for anything that happened. She had meant not stopping Rumlow, and not stopping Bucky, but when he was on his knees like this, Steve liked to pretend that she had also been talking about the sex. If she had known about it, he thought that’s what she would have said.

He could feel Rumlow’s impatience. Steve’s hands fumbled from Rumlow’s belt, and then the fastener of his pants. Rumlow’s breath gave a hitch. He was already hard. Steve pulled his cock out with care; for all that Rumlow liked to deliver rough treatment, he didn’t like to receive it. Who knew what damage he could do to Steve, now, with a blow to the head. How strange that when he had been a truly fragile kid, Steve had done nothing but get himself into fights. How strange that now he was a healthy, six foot tall, well-muscled adult, he felt helpless without the serum. Funny what you could get used to.

He closed his eyes as he took Rumlow’s cock into his mouth, let it slide over his tongue, guiding it with one hand. Steve didn’t get hard. He didn’t usually during the act, but he probably would later, when he thought about it. And so what did that say about him? That he could only get it up for someone he know had no power over him. It wasn’t like it was bad, though. There was a rhythm to Rumlow that he knew, and so he switched off his brain and let himself drift elsewhere. He didn’t think about Rumlow’s hard hand in his hair, or the way he tasted like salt and musk. He didn’t think - tried very hard not to notice—about how Rumlow’s breath quickened and stuttered in a way that once he, Steve, had been wild for.

Rumlow’s fingers tightened in Steve’s hair and he leaned his weight forward, pressing into Steve's mouth a little too hard, a little too deep. It made Steve flush up the back of his neck. It was nothing, he thought desperately, just muscle memory. He tried not to make a noise. Above him, Rumlow was sucking in short, quick breaths. _Like he used to,_ thought Steve. It would be easier if he could pretend that Rumlow was somebody else, but he could, with precision, map every inch of Rumlow’s body, and identify every sound and smell and taste of him. 

Steve’s jaw, no longer enhanced, was starting to ache by the time Rumlow shot his load. If Steve took him down far enough, he didn’t have to taste it; didn’t really even have to notice it. Once Rumlow had come, he was both genial and disinterested in Steve. Double blessing. 

‘Get yourself down to the hangar,’ Rumlow told him, already turning away to fix his hair in the mirror. ‘Rollins wants you.’ Rollins could want anything at all. Much of what Rollins wanted was painful, humiliating or both. Sometimes he wanted a hand to hold a wrench, or to clean a gun, or a listening ear while he told his horrific war stories. 

But at least Steve had never liked Rollins. At least he’d never teetered on the edge of loving him. And so—

‘Anything you say, Cap,’ said Steve. The words burned in his mouth. But then, by now he was used to pain.


End file.
